28. GRAYSON
28
GRAYSON
The shrill ring of my phone pierced the silence, jolting me.
“Seth?” I answered.
“You need to get Ivy and her mother out of there,” Seth said. “Now.”
Shit.
I had just settled in the room at the far end of the motel. While there was no way I could bring myself to leave Ivy completely, after her emotional plea, the least I could do was try to give her some space. So, I’d rented the farthest room from her, and Red had resumed his original post until we could figure out a better plan in the morning.
I had just lain down when my phone went off.
“What’s going on?” I demanded, shoving my feet into my shoes, grabbing my keys, hoodie, and weapon before charging out the door.
The cool night air slapped my face as I hurried across the second-story outdoor hallway.
“After that stunt at the police station, I’ve been monitoring police calls,” Seth said. “Honestly didn’t think anything would come of it, but I wondered if someone might be intimidating or harassing that detective Ivy had mentioned.”
In our debrief.
“And?”
“He just got a call. But not from Daniel.”
“From who?”
“Ivy.”
Fire engulfed my body. You have got to be fucking kidding me. How many times did we explicitly tell her the phone was for emergency use only? To call me. Or Red.
My molars ground so tightly, I swear I heard a crack.
Seth’s voice was trying to be soothing. Too late after it had started a five-alarm fire. “It might mean nothing, but if they’re monitoring his calls, too, and if they’re using IMSI-catchers to try to triangulate, your position might be compromised.”
Fuck.
“If I were you?—”
“I’ll get her out of here. Thank you, Seth.”
I ended the call and approached Red.
“Open the door,” I demanded.
“What’s going on?” He positioned one hand on the gun in his back waistband, the other opening the door with his spare key, alert and scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble.
I slammed the door open so hard, it bounced off the wall.
Ivy’s mother sat up in bed, startled awake, while Ivy bolted to her feet, her hand to her chest.
“What the hell?” Ivy’s eyes darted between me and Red.
I stepped into her space.
“Where is it?” I demanded, my voice low and dangerous.
“Where is what?” Ivy’s breath caught in her throat as she looked up at me, her features reflecting a mix of fear and something else.
“The phone.”
Her mouth parted, presumably in understanding, and I couldn’t help but let my gaze flicker to her lips for a brief moment.
“Give me the goddamned phone—now!” I snapped.
Ivy swallowed, her breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath. She opened the nightstand drawer and handed the phone to me with trembling fingers. Never breaking eye contact with her, I smashed it beneath my heel.
I couldn’t believe she had done something so reckless, something so dangerous.
“Now, get in the car,” I snapped, my voice rough.
“We’re leaving?” She scrutinized me.
“Thanks to your fucking phone call, there could be an army of men assembling outside with sniper rifles. Get in the car!”
Ivy and her mother exchanged a look, then grabbed their go-bags—the ones Red had put together in case we ever needed to flee fast—and took off to the parking lot with us following.
“Dammit, Red, we’ve got two cars.” I ran a hand through my hair. “If we leave one behind?—”
“They could find it and lay out a search radius with this as the center.” Red nodded.
“We’ll take both.”
“I’ll take the mother; you take Ivy,” Red said, cocking his gun.
“Split them up?” I asked.
“So they each have a dedicated guard.”
Right.
“You go east; we’ll go west. Then, we’ll meet at our next planned location,” Red said.
He and I had already mapped out our next two stops so we could meet up again without having to use our phones. Honest to God, I didn’t think we’d need it. But I shouldn’t have underestimated how dangerous Ivy’s stubbornness could be.
As we hustled down the steps and onto the asphalt, Red and I performed visual sweeps. If they had snipers, we were screwed. If they had a team of men, also screwed. Keeping Ivy one step ahead of the CIA was her only chance until we took Daniel down, and she went and risked it with a damn phone call.
“Get in the car,” I snapped to Ivy.
Her eyes darted to her mother, who climbed in with Red, then back to me.
For a second, Ivy had the audacity to freeze.
I glared at her.
“Now’s not the time to prioritize feelings. Get in the fucking car.”
Ivy clenched her jaw, but thankfully, she got in the vehicle.
We peeled out with the smell of burned rubber and, hopefully, no tails on us.